A Kind Lie
by Rachel Hawkins
Summary: Sayid thinks about his relationship with Shannon and deals with the events of Abandoned. Spoilers through episode 2x06 Abandoned.


A KIND LIE

Was there such a thing as a kind lie, Sayid wondered. It was a question he'd been asking himself for days, since the first time Shannon had claimed to see Walt. He hadn't believed her then, had in fact tried to gently convince her she was mistaken. There was no way she could have seen Walt. He was on the raft, somewhere in the ocean.

Would it have been kinder to have lied to her from the beginning? To have told her that first night that he believed in her? She'd seemed to have, above all, a need for someone to believe in her. For someone to respect her.

He was ashamed to admit that, at first, he hadn't respected her much. Not truly. The self-centered girl of her youth seemed to be all she knew. The one who gave up, the one who walked away. It wasn't until a little later that he'd begun to realize there was much more to her than she let on.

The song had been his first clue. The writing on Danielle's papers, which had turned out to be lyrics to some silly song. Only, when she'd sat beside him on the beach that night and sung the song, he'd been moved. He hadn't understood the words, but her voice had been beautiful. And she'd chosen to share her song with him, which had meant maybe more than it should have.

They were from two different cultures; indeed, two entirely different worlds. But they'd forged a bond that had turned into something he'd never thought to feel again. After losing Nadia, he'd never expected to find another woman to care about, let alone love. But on this island the rules were different. There was nowhere to run, and you could only hide from the truth for so long.

He'd faced his own inescapable truths while on the island. That he wasn't as far removed from his former life as he'd thought. He was still capable of calmly and coldly torturing another human being. It hadn't been easy to learn that.

And then today, another truth: that he'd fallen in love with the most unlikely woman, in the most unlikely place.

Today was the first time he'd admitted the fact aloud. It hadn't been planned, his admission. But he hadn't been able to deny it when faced with the heartbreaking vulnerability she'd shown him. She'd never revealed many details of her life before the island. But today, soaked by a downpour of rain and out of breath from a desperate search for a boy who couldn't possibly have been there, she'd revealed the rawest center of her heart. That she believed he would disappear as soon as they were rescued, that he would abandon her without a second thought.

He's sought to calm her with a truth he'd only fully realized in that moment, kneeling in the mud with her. That he loved her, and that he didn't ever want to leave her.

He'd given her the sandals because he was beginning to care for her. He'd carried her—and Boone's—suitcases to the caves because he cared deeply for her and wanted to ease her troubles. And he'd built her the shelter because he loved her, and was compelled to do whatever he could to make a tough life a little bit more pleasant.

And then, in a moment, a mere heartbeat, it had all been ripped apart. He'd run after her as she chased after Walt, but he'd tripped, and she'd disappeared into the heavy brush ahead of him.

And then he'd heard the shot.

His heart screaming a furious denial, he'd gotten back to his feet and rushed forward. He'd seen her as he burst through the trees. Her back had been to him, but she'd turned to face him, and he'd seen the blood. The shock on her face, the stunned disbelief. She'd staggered, and he'd rushed forward and caught her as she fell.

Now, he sat in the mud, heedless of the rain, holding the woman he loved in his arms.

He clenched his hand over hers, desperately trying to staunch the flow of the blood. Never in his life had he wanted something to be a dream more than in this very moment. She was too young to die now, too beautiful. Too full of life and passion. And too full of potential, if only she would realize it.

He murmured in Arabic, prayers and pleas for her survival. And curses, when he looked down and saw her blood trickling through their fingers. It wasn't slowing down.

He looked at her face and saw her eyes on him. They were full of grief, and something more.

"I'm afraid," she whispered raggedly.

He nearly wept. "Don't be afraid," he said, leaning down closer to her, brushing wet hair out of her eyes. "I'll get you to Jack, and you'll be all right."

"Boone wasn't all right."

He held her closer, knowing in his heart that it was futile. Even if he started now and ran all the way to the caves, he'd never make it in time. He'd seen enough injuries to know. The wound was too severe; she'd lost too much blood. Would it be kinder to lie to her, to try to reassure her when he knew that it was already too late?

Her eyelids fluttered, closing as the strength and life ebbed from her. "You're not alone," he whispered desperately. "I'm here with you. I love you."

Her lips moved, but no sound emerged. She was growing more still. Her time was quickly running out.

"Shannon, do you hear me?" There was no response. "I'm here. I'm not going to leave you. I'm never going to leave you. You're not alone anymore."

She opened her eyes for a brief moment, her eyes focusing on his for the barest instant before closing again.

And then she was gone. He felt her life slip away from her, and he was left kneeling in the mud, holding the body of the woman who had, in a very short time, come to mean everything to him.

For a protracted moment the only sound in the clearing was the splash of the rain. He held Shannon in his arms, grief overwhelming him, before being slowly replaced by an unquenchable rage. This was murder, pure and simple. Unprovoked, unjustified murder. And he was not going to stand for it. He was not going to let it go, let it pass. He would avenge her. He would show her that even in death, she had his loyalty.

He looked up, for the first time focusing on the woman holding the gun. She was a stranger. He'd never seen her before. He didn't care who she was. He didn't care where she'd come from. He ignored the stricken look on her face. She was going to pay for what she'd done, he thought, his face transforming into a cold mask of rage and pain.

Slowly, very gently, he lay Shannon down on the ground. He clutched her hand in his, pulling it up to his mouth for a gentle kiss. He lay her hand across her stomach and stood up slowly. He looked down at Shannon, lifeless, gone, and then back up at the woman who'd killed her.

Blind with rage, he charged her.

He got his hands around her neck before a strong weight grabbed him and tried to pull him away. He resisted, wanting revenge, wanting blood. Another man joined the effort to pull him away, and their combined force was too much for him to resist. They pulled him away from her, the bigger of the two, a man with ebony skin and intense features, holding onto him while an older man stood between him and the woman.

He viciously jerked away from the man, his hands on his head, digging into his hair. He wished he could reach right inside his head and take the pain away. Wished even more that he could turn back time and bring Shannon back. She didn't deserve to die.

He knelt beside her body. He had to squeeze his eyes shut and take several deep breaths as defense against a rush of grief. He took her in his arms and stood up, cradling her close, protectively. He faced the woman and said coldly, calmly, "You will pay for what you've done."

And then he turned and left the clearing. He carried Shannon through the jungle, back to the shelter he'd built for her, the shelter she'd spent one night in before her life had been taken. One precious night that he was sure he'd think about whenever he closed his eyes.

He laid her on the pallet they'd used for their bed and brushed the droplets of rain from her face, her neck, her arms. Maybe it would have been kinder to lie to her, to never have hesitated to confirm his belief in her. His love for her. Had he known her life would end so quickly, so harshly, he could have lied, and maybe she wouldn't have felt quite so alone. Maybe he could have given her a measure of peace to take to wherever it was she'd gone away to.

Later, he would realize that he'd seen Michael and Jin in the group of people at the clearing. Later, he would contemplate the significance of that.

Now, he knelt beside Shannon and wept.


End file.
